


[NSFW] Steam Therapy

by dashgstr



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashgstr/pseuds/dashgstr
Summary: [It's good for the lungs, right?][+18 only, please.][Formalesque  slashfic quickie about a songbird and a hero, told from the second person (Link).][Cross-Post from https://dotgstrnsfw.tumblr.com/ .]





	

Standing staunchly in the distance, the lonely Hebra mountains exert their grey presence over everything their shadows touch. Their features, chiseled and sculpted by a millennia of harsh, unforgiving blizzards, are telling to any explorer daring to venture on their slopes. The environment is not to be tested, but undertones and hints of homely warmth tempt better than some tales of treasure. 

But, it’s become clear to you that the treasures of the frozen northwest are only a myth to those without wings, or those without spirit. Three days you spent out in these wilds, fighting off wolves with nothing but arrant willpower, and a suit adorned with the feathers of the Rito. On the third day, when the wind was beginning to swipe at your cheeks like an invisible, omnipresent opponent, you arrived at the hot spring you had been seeking. And, you find that the one who had informed you waiting there as well.

It was his voices which brought you to seek him out. The voice he conjured from the squeezebox, rising with heroic vibrato, then lowering with melancholy melody, told stories and riddles from the age gone by. The voice he conjured himself rang true in time, a soft, elegant baritone. His instrument painted the images, and his voice wove the narrative, creating an effect that was tantalizing, or, in your case, seductive to the ears. If not a master, an authority of his craft, he called to you to hear his song, even though you had not been previously acquainted.

His personality was gentle and endearing, as if he was raised and bred for the purpose he was pursuing. You stopped and heeded his request, letting his music fulfill a previously unknown requirement for your psyche. It mesmerized you, caught you like a fish on a fluorescent lure. After the performance, you began musing to great lengths, wanting to become as familiar with this intoxicating individual as possible.

Minutes passed like seconds, and hours like minutes as you conversed, talking about big things, little things, lighthearted things, and joyless things. You were friends by dusk, only ceasing dialogue due to time constraints. And, as you began to wave goodbye, he approached you with an offer. If you were to follow him to a location of his choice, you would become more familiar with him than friendship would formally allow.

You agreed.

And here you are now, standing before him in your snow-blasted adventure gear, while he lounges in the steaming waters of the hotspring. His instrument, clearly not constructed to cope with being immersed in water, has been delicately wrapped up and set at the edge of the pool. The choice of wrapping however, so happens to be the bard’s colorful linens and leathers. Only a thick utility belt sits outside the bundle, and it blows playfully off the tree branch it hangs from.

Your boots crunch against damp snow as you approach the spring, swinging off your pack with a grunt. Upon doing so, it finally occurs to you that your companion is completely nude.  
“Ah, welcome!” he speaks, turning himself ‘round in the drink.

Thanks to the natural fog of the spring, you’re unable to see anything below his waist, but his plumage of brilliant blues and yellows, his trained and toned physique, and his captivating eyes take attention away from this fact. You cannot help but stare, as labelling him as anything other than the perfect specimen would be blasphemy at its core.

He smiles at your inability to return his greeting, understanding your plight in its entirety. It’s a smile that, though it’s telling of self-awareness, lacks the smugness, or arrogance of the other Rito you’ve previously encountered. Though, of course, you haven’t met them in such sultry context, either. Regardless, his expression provokes movement from you, reminding you of your gazing.

You quickly begin removing your travel gear, undoing straps, belts, and knots as if they were ablaze. This course of action eventually leads to you becoming stuck, after attempting to brute force your way through a specific set of fastenings. Focusing on the task at hand, you don’t notice your companion’s quiet approach right up until he offers,

“Please, allow me to help you.”  
As he steps up onto the edge of the pool to assist you in your task, you’re finally able to take in his full glory.

Seemingly adept at everything he tries, he undoes the ties with ease, sliding your coat right off your shoulders. He steps down, sitting on his knees in the steaming, bubbling sauna. Your face is flush with fascination, and his soft grin doesn’t aid in dispersing that feeling. Gears begin to turn, and comparisons come to mind. In sheer size alone, you feel as if you were swindled by Hylia when it comes to endowment. It almost causes jealousy on your part, but you remember that it’s yours regardless, and you slide your shirt from your chest.

All that remains are your trousers. Everything else has been folded and compressed by the musician, set far enough from the pool as to not get wet, but close enough to maintain their warmth for later. They slide off with ease, and just as the mountains remind you that you are, indeed, in a completely frozen section of land, you step into the pool, and sit down in front of him.

The warmth overtakes you, sending a completely new feeling branching up your spine. Though you’re not standing, you presume that if you were, your legs would have turned to gelatin immediately. You breathe in the humid, intimate air, filling your lungs with steam to warm you from the inside out. Your mind begins to float, and the serene, stoic cliffs of Hebra calm any former insecurities. From the beginning, you had no doubt in your mind concerning his choice of location, but this? This could not have been predicted, even if you had the foresight of a divine being.

He leans forward, enveloping you in his wings in an honest, thankful embrace. Words need not be exchanged, as you embrace him back, burying your hands and arms into the down of his back. Though the soft layers of feathers is comforting, you feel the tone and contour of his muscles, a landscape of its own beneath a cloud cover of harlequin blue.

You notice that he’s beginning to return the motion, softly brushing his fingers along your spine and down past your waist. Though you’re toned for a Hylian, you’re not a broad shouldered, armor-donning, beer-chugging warrior. He traces your sword shoulder with a feather, as if he’s admiring the strength you’ve accumulated despite your size. He follows the valley your back produces, causing an involuntary giggle to well up inside you from the tickling feeling. Though he appears to be an expert in evoking certain feelings from you, he had yet to truly explore a Hylian, as it’s not difficult to tell these new feelings are born from curiosity.

Eventually, he makes his way down your back once more. His fingers press into the sensitive flesh below your waistline, squeezing with characteristic gentleness while the bubbling spring murmurs from his movements. With a fluid motion, he lifts you out of the water. As if returning the view from earlier, he is granted full view of your body, as your ankles dangle just below the surface of the water. He wades to a seat in the bottom of the pool, placing himself upon it, then placing you on top of him. You feel his muscles relax, which you decide is the perfect time to use them as a pillow.

Though unexpected, you don’t seem to mind the sudden change in position. You press against his abdomen, rump practically seated on his endowment. After shifting around, you find yourself growing an erection from this arrangement. You lift your head from the down of his chest, noting his affectionate, but somewhat worried smile. Though you can swear he’s capable of reading emotions like a scholar reads a tome, he wraps his arms around your back once more, asking

“Are you comfortable?” as if to reassure himself for the sake of posterity.

Brushing your chin against his feathers, you nod. Your cheeks are as red as wildberries from the combination of wintery breeze and erotic activities, and you haven’t a need for a mirror to know it. “Comfortable” wouldn’t describe this position justly.

With a sigh that may have shifted you off balance, had you not been holding on as firmly, he wipes his forehead in relief.  
“I apologize. I was worried that I may have disturbed you somehow with the sudden movement.”  
It wasn’t disturbing, you say. It was simply a necessary repositioning. He chuckles, and graces your lips with a gentle peck. Though you feel the urge to never separate your lips from his, the mechanics of kissing a bird-like person suddenly occur to you. Indulging in his lips would be nigh impossible, and to get to his tongue would involve nearly being swallowed. But, it takes not a moment to consider a way to repay him.

You slide yourself down his chest and out of his grasp, dipping into the water briefly before coming back up between his legs. Only the slightest touch causes his member to erect itself, and it sticks up from the water for your taking. It softly quivers under your grasp, and the added layer of texture from the bubbling spring accentuates its perfectly proportioned girth. As your lips come into contact, you glance up at the Rito performer, who has leaned back with closed eyes, preparing himself for what is to come.

Though again anatomy has struck you and your partner somewhat incompatible, you’re far more determined to ensure he receives his. You’re only able to fit a quarter of it inside your mouth before having to retreat, fearing a mood killer worse than simply gagging. You glance up at him again, and it seems like he had expected something similar to happen. But, it only takes a second for you to return to his pelvis. You must make do with what you have, and you’ve never been one to give up easily.

Your tongue explores every inch of his member, while your hands work further down his shaft, squeezing and shifting with as much sensuality as you could muster. You find yourself savoring this meal of an organ to such an extent that you can almost feel an addiction, a future craving beginning to form. A memory is instantly created, like that of a perfect meal you’ll never be able to recreate, or that of the wind whipping through your hair as you ride your first horse. It’s an indescribable concept for the simple minded, and even the most honed of thinkers could only delineate it with recallings of personal events.

Bobbing your head with the rhythm of a naga drum, your hands move counter to your mouth, creating a passionate polyrhythm you believe he’d be proud of, had he been not overtaken by the feeling it evokes. He throbs in your maw, and by the tightening of his thighs, you can tell he’s close to climaxing. This can’t be where it ends, you tell yourself. Awakened by this revelation, you find yourself wanting more than what your mouth can provide. Though your newfound addiction has been satisfied for now, you want to experience him. You want to feel him like you would the view from the peak of a snow-capped alp.

Removing your mouth from his member, you give his endowment one last tug before moving out from between his legs. You step up on the ledge, presenting your steaming, dripping wet physique to him. You exchange a sultry smile with him, before lowering yourself down onto his abdomen once more. This time, however, your intent is to conquer him. You rub his erection against your bottom, and it eagerly thumps against you. He, on the other hand, looks down at you with slight surprise, posing the question of,  
“Are you certain, Hylian…?”  
Though the ghost of anatomy tolls its bell once more, you narrow your eyebrows and nod. This is something you want more than anything. This is the one objective that your mind has set for your body, and it is to feel what he is capable of. This is your challenge.

His expression turns to that of a light frown. Not one of disappointment, but of concern. Though it can be assumed that he appreciates your enthusiasm, he appears to believe that you could, in said excitement, hurt yourself beyond repair. And though you don’t want to admit it, the logical voice in your head agrees.  
“In that case, allow me,” he replies, lifting you up once more.

Despite your inability to resist, you gladly allow him to maneuver you onto your back, resting your tailbone on the lip of the pool. You expected to have the shock of frozen earth to remove the effects of your efforts entirely, but thanks to the width of his wingspan, you rest easily on his feathers, with his arms tucked comfortably underneath your shoulders.

“Is this… suitable?” he muses, still uncertain of the act you’re so desperate for him to perform. You reply with a nod, wrapping your arms around his neck not only as a romantic gesture, but also to brace yourself for what is to come. He looks as if he still has more to ask about, or as if he wishes to explain the reasoning for this repositioning, but, again, it only takes a moment for him to realize that you don’t need an explanation. Chemistry alone is what sends these nonverbal messages, and you believe it’s the greatest emissary Hyrule has ever seen.

He lightly pulls you in, shading you from the gaze of the mountains entirely. Gripping his member with one hand, and your rear with the other, he slowly but surely enters your body, cautious and sensitive to any potential tap-outs. You need not be a mathematician to assume how someone of his size would feel inside someone two thirds his height and width.

Your insides grip him tightly, moistened by the previous exposure to spring water so as to not be painful. You find yourself gasping as the first inch enters, intoxicated and a touch taken aback by how immediate the feeling is. He stretches you to just before your limit of discomfort, but to a point where the idea of trekking through the mountains the following day is foreboding to you. He stops dead in his effort, raising his eyebrows in tender vigilance.  
“Are you-” he starts. With a kiss to his beak, you both confirm that you’re fine, and that you’d tell him when it was too much. Though clearly not completely reassured, you can see by his expression that his inhibitions are in the process of being broken down. He can, and eventually will give you what you desire.

He resumes pushing in at a steady, modest pace, and though he glances up at you to ensure that you’re comfortable more than once, you can feel his breath becoming heavier from the sensations on his member. Comfortable, again, would be an understatement for you at this point in time, as the feeling of ecstasy, the feeling of being filled by such a passionate, caring person is far beyond definition. Each inch sends shivers down your spine, and though you only allow him to go three quarters deep before informing him that you’re at your limit, his hushed, subdued moan confirms that you’re doing your part as well as he is.

With a pat on the shoulder, you inform him that you’re ready. He pulls out partially, then pushes back in, maintaining that slow, careful pace. You feel him quiver inside you, translating that energy from his erection to yours. Eventually, he looks down at you as if to ask,  
“Faster?”  
And you nod, as if you confirm,  
“Faster.”  
He leans into you further, pressing his chiseled, tense chest into yours. With every breath, the combination of soft, warm plumage and the swelling of his defined, impeccable chest sends an overwhelming sense of comfort, of confidence through you. His constant musing bolsters your perception of him, and you relax yourself while he takes full control of your body.

Like a steam engine, he quickens his thrusts at a gradual pace, growing faster and faster until capping at a moderate, prudent level. You would have expected him to lose control a touch; you know that you would, if you had his opportunity. From your experience, when you are taken by desire, you tend to go past the limits of your partner not out of disrespect, but out of accident. But, he has yet to go past the limit you set when he was testing the waters. He always manages to achieve exactly the spot you felt filled you to your maximum, then he pulls out, washing your body with another wave of pleasure. If you weren’t in the middle of being penetrated, you’d most likely sit down to appreciate the skill with which he conducts himself.

The rhythm which he constructs can be appreciated just as much. Anybody else, you’re sure, you would’ve considered them inept in this field for it. But, the way he staggers his motions between acceleration, deceleration, half notes, and full notes, is impossible to assume he’s doing it on accident. Additionally, the occasional pulse against your insides almost seem to be timed perfectly as well. He’s created a personal solo performance, one that makes you rock your hips his tempo, and one that’s sure to nest in your head for years to come.

The creeping buildup of pleasure in your body becomes alarmingly apparent, far too soon for your usual tastes. Though, you feel as if any measurable amount of time would be considered “too soon” for this to end. Your breathing quickens, your muscles contract, and you close your eyes, trying to hold on to this feeling for as long as possible. This is the only appropriate time he deems to push you past your limit, and you’re nothing short of shuddering with intensity as you climax. You coat his belly feathers with semen, yanking him down for one last kiss before your body gives in entirely. Heat washes over you, and the resulting fight against the chilling breeze causes a tightening of your insides around his erection. At that moment, he pulls out. You have yet to feel as empty in your bottom as you do now. He sends a torrent of his own cum onto, and slightly inside your rump, sighing from the feeling of sweet release. A moment of silence falls between the two of you, with only the bubbling of the hotspring, combined with the heaving of your bodies to set the soundscape.

Pressing his arms against the exposed rock of the spring’s lip, he gazes deep into your eyes, chuckling from the sheer intensity of his climax. In between your wheezing breaths, you find time to laugh as well. It revitalizes you in a way, reassuring that the both of you were sufficiently satisfied with one another. You lean up once more for a peck on the beak, which he returns with controlled enthusiasm.

At that point, you both realize that there is a mess to be cleaned. You’ve effectively mottled his waist feathers with yours, and he’s painted your bottom white with his. Before either of you say a word, he picks you up for the last time, and places you in the water on the natural bench. You’re certain that there’s no better feeling after indulging in carnal pleasure than a bubbling, steaming, welcoming hotspring. He sits in next to you, taking in a deep breath of moist, medicinal air. Though you feel tempted to sit on his lap again, he pulls you in close with a wing, leaning his head on yours. Which, in your mind, is satisfactory.


End file.
